La petite chatte.

Some people just don’t make it through the night. It’s the sad reality of things. Dying in your sleep, a gun to your head, a malicious killer—a comfortable bed at night doesn’t protect you from stuff like that. You can lock all the doors, say your prayers, but if it’s your time to go, you haven’t got a say in the matter.

So it actually makes a lot of sense that you risk a heart attack when you see Jennie sitting on your windowsill.

Her eyeliner, smudged and messy, matches the black of the night sky spread behind her. She’s got those big, Twiggy lashes that make her look like an enigma from a beige-schemed television. The fact that she trespassed your home doesn’t seem to bother her. Your gawking doesn’t either. All Jennie’s focused on is stroking the cat in her lap.

Jennie looks up at you, flashes those perfect teeth. “Found her wandering around. She’s adorable, isn’t she?”

The kitten sits on her jeans comfortably. She hasn’t got a top on; just a tiny Calvin Klein bra and a leather jacket. It’s making biscuits on her flat, supermodel midriff. Its claws dig deep into her flesh yet she doesn’t seem to mind. Hell, Jennie doesn’t even wince. She’s no stranger to pain. 

You’d know that, wouldn’t you?

So you don’t spare her the venom in the much-needed question that goes: “Jennie, what the fuck are you doing here?”

She handles it well. Doesn’t flinch at the volume of your voice, doesn’t tear her eyes away from the kitten. “I wanted to see how you were holding up.”

You close the door behind you and lean on its back. Make the tiniest exhale through your nostrils to keep yourself zen. She was the one who taught you that. Jennie was a girl who got herself in a lot of trouble and struggled to keep up with said trouble.

She looks as beautiful as the last time you saw her. Probably even more. As usual, you’re captured by those eyes, those pretty lips. Her collarbone is ever sharp and you resist the urge to kiss the dent it makes on her pure skin. Cruel. There’s something so twisted about the fact that even after months, you could still map the exact coordinates of the scar under her chest. You’ve still got how she likes to be touched memorized like an anthem.

“I’m doing fine, thank you for the concern,” you tell her, dropping your keys on the table. Each step draws you closer to Jennie. You don’t know if you like that. “What about you? You don’t think it’s rude to come in here and act like you own the place?”

You’re in front of her now to get yourself a drink from the cupboard. A strong one. It takes a lot to handle Jennie. Not everybody can. Which is why she probably grew tired of running, hiding from you, finding you in some other guy who doesn’t know her like you do. You imagine she hasn’t had much luck. 

It’s natural for a man to want Jennie Kim. But once he’s pawed through her body and realizes he can’t tie her down—to one place, to a career, to his bed—he starts getting angry. 

“I do think it’s rude,” Jennie admits, watching you pull out a tall bottle of soju. She tilts her head when you scowl at her. “But you’re not one to hold grudges, are you?”

You don’t reply. Simply crack the bottle open and drink straight from its mouth. Should you finish it all in one go? You’ve had a long day, and seeing that Jennie has broken in is getting to you. You ought to be asleep by now.

But Jennie has a bad habit of keeping you up. In more ways than one. She once called you sobbing in the middle of the night. You had to pick her up at 3 a.m. from that airport and she collapsed in your arms exhaustedly. And when you still shared a bed, she made up for all that by keeping you inside her all night long.

A possessive streak runs through you just now. Jennie’s petting the kitten and making soft coos at it. Her own catlike eyes are sparkling.  You wonder if they’ve ever seen her like this. You wonder if they’ve thought of her as someone whose fragility is very real under those dark eyes and nude lipstick. You want to ask them if they’ve caught her wearing their hoodie or seen her sleep in the passenger seat, knees under her chin.

It’s an irrational thought. A pathetic one because it doesn’t fucking matter. Love doesn’t make you better than them. Jennie Kim still isn’t yours.

“Hold grudges? Baby, I can’t even hold you back from anything.”

Jennie’s little smile pulls at your heartstrings. “I love when you call me baby. Makes me feel like you can.”

She lifts the kitten up and places it by the pot of flowers. It’s purring softly. You think it really likes Jennie. Cats are either aloof or aggressive with you. This one rubs itself on the fabric of her jeans and vies for her attention.

It stretches a little on your table. You spot a golden collar glinting on its neck. It almost blinds you, a star dropped from the night sky.

Jennie runs her fingers behind its ears. “Guess the cat’s out of the bag,” she says, and manages a giggle at her own joke. “I tried to hide the collar, you know. I really wanted to keep her. But sweet little kitten here already belongs to someone else.”

The gold collar looks more real to you. The shine on that thing can’t be duplicated. You thought she’d picked the little thing from the streets but you see how soft its fur is. Only housecats get that kind of fur, with attentive, loving owners who aren’t hesitant to take care of it.

“Maybe you’ll get a big cash prize for giving it back,” you tell her, although Jennie’s never needed convincing to let go of things. People. Love. She’s already washing her hands at your sink.

Her shoulders, fine and pretty and impossible to take your eyes off from, drop. “She’s probably worth millions. Would she mind if I kept her?”

“You think it would want an owner who can’t keep herself warm?” 

It’s been bugging you since the moment you saw her. Jennie’s body is tight and perfect but god, she’s gonna catch a cold if she keeps that up. 

So you’re the Monroe who relieves that age-old itch of touching her, lifting Jennie off the counter and buttoning her jacket closed. Set her on her feet and try not to look her in the eye. But then you’re left with the rest of her body and it just becomes a complicated situation. 

Hide her for the audience that is the rest of the world outside the window. Keep her for yourself although you’ve no right to and it hurts to think about it each time.

You’re at the final button when you realize she’s smiling. 

“Oh,” Jennie says, eyes almost soft, “you do care.”

She can’t look at you like that when you have your fingers just below her chin. 

“Of course I care. Do you know how much I worry about you? When you pack up your things and leave for months without even…” You hiss. “I dunno, a text, maybe? Do you have any idea?”

“Hmm? I have an idea.” Jennie tilts her cheek up as if to ask for a kiss. “But I wouldn’t mind a recap.” 

“You’re crazy.” 

“Takes one to know one.” She watches the provoked tremble of your lip, before looking up at you. “Oh, sweetheart. Are you mad at me?” 

She’s coaxing you, for sure. She wants nothing more than for the anger to get the best of you so you can shove her up the door and start marking her. It’s how you work, you know. She winds you up a little, lets a bit of skin show from her jacket—that’s pretty much all it would take for you to fuck her.

And that fucking accent, Jesus. 

“Maybe you should keep the kitten.”

Jennie’s brows quirk at the sudden change of conversation. “Oh?”

“Why not. You’re a whole lot like each other.”

You skate your fingers over the dark threads of her hair. You’ve forgotten what it felt like to have it curled in your fist. You wonder if you should reminisce later on, when this ends how it always ends.

“You’re beautiful, Jennie.”

The curve of her ear turns a faint red, as if it’s something she hasn’t been told before.

“People look for beauty and want it for themselves. You told me that, right, baby? You’re the sort of girl someone would want to take home to their mom then their bed.”

Her skin is hot under your touch. Jennie’s face painted by the lamplight is made of soft, soft lines. You trace each one: her cheek, jawline, and her lips. 

“But you’re not a dog who can be kept on a leash. No one can keep you in one place. You can go around the world without looking back and they’ll have to deal with it. That kitten left her home because that’s what you do even if you already belong to someone.” 

Then your hand is on her neck, running along the veins and the ridges that stretch to her collarbone. You’re petting at her like you would a kitten. The collar still shimmers on its neck as it sleeps on your counter.

On Jennie’s, you find none. 

There’s only your hand that’s suddenly closed around the base of her throat. An unconscious thing, really. You’d take it off but Jennie’s placed a hand over yours to keep it there.

Her voice is very, very soft. “Are you saying I belong to you?” 

There’s a rough patch in your throat. “Just trying to make venn diagram conversation here.”

She giggles. “You’re cute,” says Jennie, her thumb rubbing back and forth on your ever-tense wrist. “Alright, sure, let’s say that you’re just making conversation. But one, you’re calling me baby again, aren’t you, ‘cause you know no one says it like you. Two, you’re pretending that you don’t wanna touch me when you literally have a hand on my throat and you look five seconds away from kissing me. And three—”

She gestures around at the space of your lived-in home. The darkness sits everywhere, save the spotlight for your too-close bodies and the sleeping kitten.

“You still haven’t thrown me out,” she finishes. “Are you afraid I’ll leave and never come back this time?” 

“I don’t think this place is up to your standards anyway, princess.”

“Maybe not, but I think I can get used to it.” Jennie lowers her head, looks straight in your eyes. “And I’m yours, aren’t I?”

Jennie stands on her tiptoes and kisses you. Her eyes are closed. Your hold on her throat moves to her head as you welcome it. She’s done you in. 

It’s a higher state of nirvana to hold her again. Each touch is familiar yet electric. She doesn’t have to open her eyes to know you’ll carry her when she jumps. The slope of Jennie’s shoulders is the perfect, narrow angle to bite down on. 

You throw the jacket you carefully buttoned on the floor. Your mouth is all over her, honestly. The purple bruises on her neck will surely be difficult to cover up. You’re sucking on her pulse point so hard that Jennie’s whining impatiently.

“Touch me already, god—such a tease—” She’s guiding you to her bra but you stay firm. 

“No. You said you were mine. I’m not gonna fuck you like you aren’t.” 

Whether she’ll admit it or not, Jennie wants this, too. She’s clawing at your shirt and kissing furiously at the side of your mouth. 

“Shut up. What are you even saying—”

“What I’m saying is you deserve better, baby girl.” That damned word is a knife that cuts through her. She’s shivering already. “You’re spoiled. You deserve to be made love to in a nice bed, not a kitchen where anyone can watch through the windows.”

You carry her to the bedroom where you finally take off your shirt, much to Jennie’s delight. Lay her out on your mattress. Wipe the hair from her forehead when you kiss her again. Your fingers map the plane of her stomach before slipping under her jeans.

“Make love to me, huh?” Jennie murmurs against your mouth. You can feel her smiling. “Such a gentleman. But you know I don’t like gentle.”

She’s soaked through her panties, the poor thing. All slick and tight. You press firmly on her clit and she gasps. Her eyes go wide. You grin.

“No?” 

“No…” She tries to focus on her breathing as you start rubbing. “I like when you go a little rough on me. When you—” 

You stick two fingers deep inside her. A genuine sob tears out of her small body, pliant and shaking on your blanket. You’re already working her tight cunt with how hard you’re stroking. She looks fucking beautiful, feels like it, too; her walls give only a bit of delicious resistance that makes her burn up. Her abs can’t relax as they tighten with each sloppy thrust.

Does she stay? Does she run? You’re only getting started, really, but the feeling of your digits already overwhelms her. Like she’s got a chain around her throat that she can’t tear off. The blurred line between pain and pleasure becomes harder to recognize. 

Jennie can paw at you right now and get you to stop. Or she can scratch at your hand to keep it there. She can’t choose, she can’t even think. So she just moves her hips to the beat of your hand, left with nothing to do, chasing the grind. The pressure is delicious and brings her crashing to the edge.

“I’m so close, please,” she whines out. You’re always so responsive, drilling your fingers where you know she likes it. She curls up and lets the climax ride through her. She’s not going to fight it. Her desperate cries echo in your ears.

You forgot how beautiful she looks when she cums. She’s a sight for sore eyes, a fallen angel who landed in your sheets. 

It’s been far too long since you’ve had Jennie like this. If you two were less complicated, fucked up people, you would’ve properly told her that you missed her. You would have told her that if she really wants to keep the kitten then she can, as long as she splits the cat food bill weekly. 

Instead, you’re pulling her jeans down because you need to taste her or you’ll lose it. 

Jennie’s your favorite drink. You haven’t seen each other in so long but the juices she drips down on your eager tongue are addicting as ever. You search for her approval in those little, trigger-happy responses: her hips jerking, her soft mewls. Jennie doesn’t like staying nor does she like anyone easily. So you have to work twice as hard for it, show her she doesn’t have to leave. 

“Oh god,” she stammers. “Right there. Just right there.”

You play with her sensitive clit before dipping your tongue in that little pussy. Her pull on your hair borders on dangerous, drawing you impossibly close to her until all you can taste is her. Your tongue draws little messages on her dripping cunt. It spells out the letters of her name, then figure eights, circles that make her cling to you. 

Dark eyes made all the more darker with the harsh makeup capture you from across the bed. Her moans, starting out as soft, coquettish moans, are now rough as you eat her out. Those creamy thighs are shaking and you have to hold them down so she doesn’t trap you with them.

But you’re only cleaning her up. You can’t have her cum without your cock inside her. When you pull away your lips are glossy. Her hips haven’t realized you’re gone, convulsing erratically to cope. Jennie tastes herself on your lips with a careless tongue shoved in your mouth. Her eyes are half-closed.

Jennie’s busy nibbling your lip when she whispers, “You are fucking insane.”

God, she’s so desperate. But you can’t be pointing fingers when your cock is throbbing with want either. She’s palming it to life through your slacks. Those clever fingers know exactly what to do. 

You’re quick to step out of your remaining clothes. Every inch of your skin is on fire. Feels like you’re already doing reparations for this sin; the burning is fueled by Jennie biting her lip as she stares at your erection. That sexy smile is just wicked. She’s your Eve who offered you a bite and since then you’ve never looked back. She’s the girl your friends know you miss in spite of all your denying. She’s the kitten who comes and goes as she pleases—but you always wish she’d stay a little longer.

Jennie wraps a fist around you and starts jerking you off. The sensation is sharp, and the clear difference between the size of her hands to your member doesn’t help. You’re quite like her, in more ways than one. That’s why she doesn’t bother for buildup, a plot to the climax. She knows you much prefer her looking in your eyes as she gets you off. Knows you like it when she twists her hand a little and kisses your tip.

“Missed this perfect cock,” Jennie says breathily. Her tongue teases your slit and you tremble. “Can it still ruin me? Bet nobody can take something as thick as this.”

“You barely could the first time,” you laugh. You have to give them a little credit. 

“I’m a big girl, I can handle it. Make me take all of you.” She presses the head to her pretty lips. “But don’t you dare cum anywhere but inside me.”

It’s a clear warning. You won’t even dare.

Just her lips already feel amazing. You trace each matte line on her mouth with your cock first, then you slide inside.

Her mouth is wet and warm, her tongue already coming out to play. You get another feel of her silky hair when you grab it for leverage. She said she was a big girl; she’ll survive some pushing and pulling. You don’t hold back once you’ve found your rhythm. Anyone who chastises you apparently hasn’t felt how good Jennie’s throat is.

Pain is what gets her off. She’s so focused on keeping her lips tight around you that she forgets to breathe. Opening her mouth wider doesn’t help if you’re thrusting like that. But there’s the fact that you’re so obviously pent up, angry at her for going so far without telling you, and how you’re taking it all out on her now that makes her so wet. She forgets that she needs it.

Her hands shift on her thighs, teasing herself by running along her skin. But she can’t touch herself. She wants to cum when your cock’s finally in her. She settles for undoing the clasp of her black bra. Her tits spill out of the cups, brown nipples hard and tight. You feel her moan after she gives them a squeeze. 

“Filthy girl.” Jennie loves the torture of it all. Her saliva is incessant with how hard you’re fucking her face, rolling down her throat and her thighs. Her nipples are raw from her pinching. She’s even tearing up now. The heavy mascara is smudging down her undereyes but she never breaks eye contact.

And you can cum from this view alone. She’s erotica in the form of an irresistible woman—Jennie, drooling and desperate, with her dark makeup and her tits right there for taking. Her god-given features are stained with sin. You can fill her throat right now and, later on, tell her to stick out her tongue to make sure she swallowed everything. You know she would. Jennie can be a very good girl if she wants to be.

But you made her a promise and you’re firm on keeping it.

You pull out with a groan. Jennie collapses weakly into your bed. She can’t seem to find her breath. She has no time to continue searching either. You’ve positioned yourself between her trembling legs with no second left to waste.

“Fill me up,” she’s saying, “show me what I missed out on.”

You don’t need to be told twice.

She’s dripping. It takes almost no effort to push your stiff shaft inside. But there always seems to be a catch, whether in the hitch of Jennie’s breath as you stretch her or the reality that you’re close. It is never an easy game with Jennie. While you bask in her arousal, her pussy grips you tightly, keeping you inside her but making it difficult to push past the tightness. 

Jennie drops her head and hisses. Her calves end up behind you to help you out. “Th-that’s all?” she asks. 

You heave one rough thrust into her and a breath is punched out of her, hot and loud. “Don’t get smart.”  

You take a moment to appreciate how amazing she feels. She’s a perfect sleeve for your cock. And judging by the pleasure tainting her face, Jennie feels the same way. You’re so big in her cunt, the throbs of your cock pressed where she’s most sensitive. 

It’s a whole different story when you start fucking her. It’s almost ridiculous how much of a tight fit she is. You’ve fucked her before in every place imaginable, bent her limbs and stretched her out, but her muscles wind tight like it’s completely new to her. And the two of you know it.

“Anybody else fucked you this good, Jennie? Stretched out this tight little pussy of yours?” 

See if she has the nerve to edge her words with sarcasm when you’re wrecking her. She can lie all she wants but the way her pussy is sopping all over you says the truth. There’s no denying it.

But if there’s anything Jennie doesn’t back down from, it’s a challenge.

So, although the pleasure jolts her like an electric shock, she smiles up at you. “If it means anything to you, the last one really, really liked my neck.”

It backfires on you completely. Your hips seem to have an emotion completely of their own. Drill her into the bed so hard there’s going to be a Jennie-shaped dent in there tomorrow, and you’ll find it empty again after she’s had her fill for tonight.

Jennie’s polished nails tease along the dangerous curve of her waist. After pinching her nipple once more just for the delicious pain, they dig into the sides of her throat. 

“He choked me like this,” she sighs. Her eyes lull into the back of her skull. “A-almost blacked out. It felt so good. He kept squeezing harder– and harder, but it wasn’t enough.”

Fucking hell—

“I told him to do it harder, but it didn’t feel right. He wasn’t as cruel as I wanted him to be. I wish you did it for me, baby. People who love me are better at hurting me.”

You need her to shut up. Jennie’s relishing the bruises the impact of your thrusts leave on her thighs. It’s so dirty and provocative, how her nails claw at her flesh the way you want to, how she’s openly getting off to the thought of you choking her. 

You want to tell her it isn’t true, but what would you be correcting? The very real fact that you love her, or the also very real fact that you’re excellent in torturing her. Your verbal denial doesn’t stop you from fucking her senseless. 

Jennie cums hard on the end of your cock, a strangled sob leaving her. As she chokes herself harder, her pussy does to your shaft as well, a sick parallel of masochism. It’s messy. She’s staining the threadcount beneath her with your own semen. You fight to get into the depths of her hole to fill her up as promised. 

You’re both throbbing and panting. Your forehead rests against hers. Your bodies are worn and battered but Jennie’s gotten the worst of it. She’s burning and shaking all over. The throb of her core drains the last drops from your balls.

Jennie’s hold on her throat relaxes. A small handprint is left on her otherwise pure flesh. It takes too little and too much for her to get roughed up. There’s no middle ground, no neutral center spectrum she can position for pain. It’s a deadly thing for a delicate body to want. When a girl is as small as Jennie, as easy to fold and squeeze, pain should be the last desire of the flesh.

You’re trying not to put all of your weight on her because you can quite literally feel her bones ache. Prop yourself up on your elbows. Look at her exhausted form search for recovery as it did so many times, when she was still here. When she was still yours.

You guide her wrist away from her neck. Your fingers interlock. 

“I never know what’s good for me, do I?” 

Her eyes blur with tears. It’s not quite Jennie to wail or throw things, like anybody would when they’re upset. So she simply lets her tears fall down, pooling in the crevices of her collarbone. Looking at you awakened some deep-seated thought in her, something she’s aware of but buried away long ago, and it’s making her heart hurt. 

She doesn’t have to explain. You’ve figured her out a long time ago because you get that same, torturous feeling when your tired gaze finds her. Jennie and her youthful face, gummy smile, and eyes sharp like a cat’s.

She lets you kiss her temple and hold her tearstained cheek. “It’s alright, baby. Let’s get some clothes on you. We’ll figure out what to do with the kitten in the morning and you can stay here. Does that sound good to you?”

You wait. It takes a beat for Jennie to manage a small smile. “I’d like that.”